


Primarch

by Kethrielle



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-11 06:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kethrielle/pseuds/Kethrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What might have happened with Shepard and Primarch Victus after the Tuchanka Bomb mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“His sacrifice will be recorded in the history of the Ninth Platoon.  Something any father would be proud of.”

There was something in his voice, something he held back, and she was sure she knew what it was.  However, if he was going to be polite enough not to dress her down in front of her crew and Wrex, she would accept the kindness for what it was; but she would still give him an opening to say what needed to be said.

“Yes, sir.   I’ll be in my quarters later, if you wish to discuss anything else.”

With that, she straightened to attention for a brief moment before nodding to the Primarch and moving up the stairs towards the war room’s exit.  She stopped to talk to Wrex, wanting to be sure he had truly dropped the matter before leaving him and the Primarch alone together.  After a brief exchange, she left, reassured that nothing would blow up in her absence.

Her next stop was the cockpit, and then it was on to her normal round of crew members, stopping diligently at each deck, speaking to anyone who wished to speak to her.  She left the crew deck for last, and after speaking with Liara, she grabbed a meal from the mess hall, and took it up to her room.  She was barely holding together, and knew that once she had managed to escape to the loft, she wouldn’t be fit company for her crew until morning.

………………………………………………………………………………………………...

Primarch Victus watched Sheppard speak with the Krogan clan leader, then leave the room.  When he was certain she wouldn’t be returning, he used his omni tool to contact Garrus, his mandibles pulled tight against his face and his subtones ringing with displeasure.

“I believe your Commander will be withdrawing her support because of this last mission.  Or maybe she just wants to yell at me about the decision I made to keep the existence of the bomb from her.  Either way, I find I’m rather disappointed that she doesn’t live up to your stories of her, Garrus.”  

In the main battery, Garrus frowned at the comm speaker.  

“That doesn’t sound like Sheppard.  What exactly happened, Primarch?”

When Victus had given him the full story, Garrus thought it over, his subvocal tones humming thoughtfully.

“No, Sheppard never goes back on her word, and she usually isn’t one to get hung up on things she can’t change.  I don’t know what she wishes to discuss with you, though.  There was something... off... about her on the ride back, but I don’t know what it is.  She seemed tense, anxious.”  Garrus frowned at the computer displaying the firing algorithms for the Normandy’s main gun, and wondered if he should go speak with her.  She hadn’t wanted to talk about it before, but maybe she would now.

“Well, whatever it is, it can wait or she can speak to me in public or skip it.  I won’t be making a personal visit to her quarters.”  The Primarch’s tone made it clear that he thought Sheppard’s suggestion was inappropriate.  Garrus just laughed, however.

“It isn’t common in the Alliance, but Sheppard has always had an open door policy.  It wouldn’t work for everyone, but it works for Sheppard.  And she always says what she means.  If she invited you, she meant it.  But you don’t have to go, she won’t force it.”

With a harrumph that showed what he thought of that policy, Victus closed the comm.  He was sure Vakarian was wrong in his assessment of the Commander’s motives, but there was one thing he was correct about: there was no reason that Victus had to take the Commander up on her invitation to chat, and he certainly had no intention of doing so.

………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Except he couldn’t sleep.  Victus had worked as long as he could, then turned in for the night, skipping the prepared meal in favor of a dextro ration bar in the room he’d been assigned on the Normandy in order to avoid having to speak with anyone on board.  He had taken the rations, locked himself in the room, turned off all but the most urgent of incoming alerts, and sat on the bunk (human shaped, naturally, and horribly uncomfortable; as career military, though, he’d slept in far worse conditions) and stared at the walls, while memories of his son played endlessly through his mind.  

After several hours of this, though, his firmly suppressed grief had simply transmuted to anger, and he was soon pacing angrily around the small room, kicking at the bunk each time he passed it.  He had to get out of this room, and find some way to cool his anger.  Checking the time on his omni tool, he discovered it was deep in the night watch; the human crew were bound to be either asleep or on duty, Garrus had undoubtedly retired for the night, and though he was sure a shouting match with Wrex would do wonders for his pent up tension, it would probably be counterproductive in the long term for alliance he hoped to gain.  

Finally, with a vicious grin, he decided to take the Commander up on her “offer” after all.  He certainly felt like yelling at someone, she was as good a target as any.  If she didn’t expect him to wait this long to take her up on her offer to talk, then he might even manage to wake her up - an added bonus as far as he was concerned.  With quick, decisive strides, he left his room, boarded the Normandy’s elevator, and punched the button for the loft.


	2. Chapter 2

Commander Shepard couldn’t sleep.  

She had thought it was only a matter of time until the Primarch came to deliver the dressing down she so richly deserved for failing to keep his son safe.  While she wasn’t looking forward to it, it was expected, and she just wanted to get it over with.  But he didn’t come.  He wasn’t at dinner, and hadn’t sent any message to her private terminal.  Finally, when the night watch had progressed enough that he must surely have retired for the night, she changed out of her uniform and into the comfortable short sleeved shirt and soft pants she slept in, and went to bed.  

She kept tossing and turning though, replaying the events on Tuchanka, trying to find that missed opportunity that would have allowed for the disarming of the bomb, the thwarting of Cerberus’ plans, and the saving of Tarquin Victus.  At last, frustrated and even less relaxed than when she’d gone to bed, Shepard got up.  She wrapped the blanket from her bed around herself, picked up her datapad, and settled into the corner of the couch.  At least she could get some work done.

***

When Primarch Victus stepped off the elevator, he was surprised to see the bright green light on the Commander’s door indicating it was unlocked.  When Garrus told him about the Commander’s open door policy, he hadn’t really believed it.  Certainly not at this hour.  However, the green light was obvious; the door was clearly unlocked, and after all she was expecting him.  Sort of.  If she had simply forgotten to lock the door before going to bed, that was hardly his problem.  

Distantly, Victus realized that if he were any less angry (and better, really, not to dwell on the emotions his anger was covering) he would never consider barging into the Commander’s quarters at any time, let alone this late.  It was a simple matter to let his anger override that small logical thought, however, so he quickly crossed the short hallway, palmed the door control, and entered her quarters.  

***

When her cabin door hissed open, Shepard looked up in surprise.  Seeing who had just walked (stormed, really) into her quarters, her stomach dropped.  Despite the delay, he clearly hadn’t simply dropped the matter.  She tried to tell herself she was relieved as she set the datapad carefully on the table, took a deep breath, and stood up.  She took a minute to fold the blanket she’d been using, wishing futilely that she was wearing her uniform, then turned to face him, straightening her spine and lifting her chin.  At least the waiting was over.

***

The Primarch had been quite focused when he entered her quarters, but the fish tank derailed him.  Who put a fish tank on a warship?  Tearing his eyes from the unexpected sight, he looked around the room.  A desk, private terminal, a small case displaying what must be military commendations, and... model ships.  She had easily a dozen, carefully arranged and displayed and lit from above.  He shook his head.  Clearly the Alliance had made some significant changes to the original design plans.  The plans worked up between the combined turian/human team of engineers had included a far simpler room for the ship’s commanding officer.  Victus suppressed a snort.  Humans.

As he completed his once-over of the room, Victus tried to remember the arguments he had prepared in the elevator.  Reasons why he hadn’t trusted her with the complete mission parameters ahead of time.  Why he couldn’t trust any non-turian with the information, particularly not a close friend of the krogan clan leader.  How he hadn’t wanted to involve anyone except the Ninth Platoon, and had wanted to deviate as little as possible from that goal, even when the success of the mission demanded it.  But when his eyes fell on her, he found his arguments derailed a second time.

She didn’t look like she was planning on yelling, or arguing.  And while he wasn’t an expert on human facial expressions by any means, she didn’t even look angry.  She stood by the large sofa in the lower part of the room, a datapad on the table in front of her, a blanket folded on the sofa behind her.  She was wearing some odd form of civilian clothing, and her hair was falling in wild curls around her face and down her back - a completely unexpected sight considering the usual tight roll she wore while on duty.  She was standing stiffly, not aggressively but as if she was bracing herself for something: chin raised, jaw set, her eyes meeting his.  No sign of anger.  No blame.

This was unexpected.

***

Shepard watched the Primarch look around her quarters, and wondered what he thought of them.  Did he know about the history of the SR2?  Or did he simply think all human warships provided such... comfortable... accommodations for the commanding officer?  She had a sinking feeling that last guess was the right one, by the look of distaste he wore.  Before she could decide whether she should say something, let alone figure out what that would be, his eyes fell on her, and he froze.  The anger he’d been wearing like armour when he walked in, drained away, and he looked confused... and at a loss.  Deciding that she ought to play hostess if he wasn’t going to start yelling right away, Shepard waved a hand towards the sofa.

“Would you care to sit down, Primarch?”  She kept her voice and expression neutral, since she was no longer sure just how this meeting was going to go.  

***

He started at the sound of her voice, his eyes narrowing in confusion.  To cover it, he walked down the steps into the lower portion of her cabin, and seated himself on the sofa, halfway between the end and the corner she had been sitting in when he entered.  

Her face had lost all expression, her voice had given nothing away.  Never good at reading humans, this deliberate masking of her emotions unnerved him and left him at a loss for words.  

His anger had died and he was left feeling exhausted, sorrow sitting heavy in his gut, weighing on his shoulders, wrapping around his mind and preventing thought.  He sat, simply staring at Commander Shepard, no longer certain why he was there, but convinced it had been a bad idea to come.

***

Perhaps he wasn’t going to yell at her after all.  He still deserved an apology, but Shepard wasn’t sure how to start.  Biting her bottom lip for a moment, watching him look around the room as if he were lost, she shrugged slightly, and decided to start with something commonplace, and possibly relaxing.

“Would you care for a drink, Primarch?  I have some dextro brandy.”

He gaped at her.  “You have dextro brandy?  What in the world for?”

“Oh, I have something for pretty much everyone,” she answered with a grin, moving to a small cabinet against the wall.  Opening it, she waved at the contents.  “Canadian lager for Alenko; fruity something or other for Liara; fruity dextro something for Tali; rincol for Wrex; a few random beverages for whoever else might show up.  And,” she pulled a bottle out of the back of the cabinet, and filled a glass partway before passing it to him, “dextro brandy for Garrus.  He said it was quite good.”  

She pulled out a silver and red can for herself, and walked back to the sofa, opening it with some sort of tab on the top, causing it to pop and fizz.  He stared at it, then at her, still confused.  Finally he managed, “But why?  And where did you get such a... comprehensive supply from?”

Shepard grinned, settling into the corner of the sofa again, one leg curled under her as she sipped her beverage.  

“The why is for morale, if someone comes up here to talk, they generally feel more comfortable with a familiar drink in their hand.  As for where it comes from....” her voice trailed off, then lowered conspiratorially.  “I raid the observatory bar periodically.  I know it’s cheating, but I don’t generally have time to go shopping for anything like this.”

“Well, thank you for the drink, Commander.”

***

She wasn’t arguing.  She wasn’t threatening.  She hadn’t even said anything he could argue with.  So why had she invited him here?  Watching her closely from the corner of his eye, Victus took a sip of the drink she’d poured him (she was right, it was quite good), and tried to figure out what to do next.  

The silence stretched and became uncomfortable.  He could see Shepard tensing up, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as her eyes moved restlessly around the room.  Suddenly, he didn’t want to argue with her.  He didn’t know what he wanted to do, but his anger had died, leaving the empty, heavy weight of sorrow.  His eyes flicked around the room, searching for something - anything - to talk about until he could leave without seeming impolite.  His eyes fell on the fish tank again, and he blurted the first thing that came to mind.

“I didn’t know you were interested in fish, Commander.”  When she jumped, and turned startled blue eyes on him, Victus nearly winced at the inane comment.  Turians never retreated however, so he maintained a steady gaze as if he were truly interested in her pet preferences.

A small smile prefaced her answer.  “Well, I wasn’t really, but it’s there, and all that empty water was annoying me.  I mean, what a waste!  The Alliance would never build anything like that, and I’ve never lived anywhere besides on Alliance vessels; all I could think about was how many showers, or drinks of water, that thing represented.  But, no one asked me if I wanted shiny, pointlessly large quarters, so I figured I’d make the most of it.  It’s actually kind of relaxing; enough so that even though all the fish died while I was under house arrest, I took some time to buy new ones during a stop at the Citadel.”

“But... the Normandy is an Alliance ship.  Of human and turian design.  And why were you on house arrest?”

Shepard smiled and settled into the corner of the couch.  This story could take awhile, but hopefully it would make things less awkward between them.  “Well, you see....”

***

It wasn’t exactly a short story, and Victus listened with amazement until she was finished talking.

“It appears that Vakarian left quite a lot of details out of his official report to Primarch Fedorian.  Not that I blame him, it’s an incredible enough story with just the bare facts about the Collectors and Reapers.  Add the details in, and most would call it crazy.  Well, until the Reapers showed up, that is.”  

Victus was surprised to find himself relaxing.  She was easy to talk to and entertaining to listen to.  Moreover, she knew how to include important military facts when necessary, while still adding personalizing touches of humor.  He was surprised to find that he wanted to extend the conversation, and offered up a story from his early years of service.

She listened well, understanding the nuances as no one who didn’t have an extensive military background could have; and she laughed at all the right places.  When the story drew to a close, he was surprised to hear himself admitting, “I’ve enjoyed our conversation very much, Commander.  It’s refreshing to find someone I can speak so freely with, especially aboard a human vessel.”

Commander Shepard smiled.  “I’ve enjoyed our conversation as well, Primarch.  It’s nice to have an opportunity to talk in a slightly more relaxed atmosphere.”

He laughed.  “More relaxed than a war room in the middle of a war, with an grumpy krogan looming over you?  Nearly anything would be more relaxed than that.  Including some battlefields.”  Leaning forward, Victus set his glass on the small table in front of the couch, and stood up.  “I should go, though, it must be late.”

As he stood, Shepard got hastily to her feet.  She hated to ruin the rapport they had built, and the peaceful mood which had settled over them both, but she had put this off long enough.  “Primarch, wait.  I just wanted to tell you how truly sorry I am that I failed to save your son.  I appreciate that you didn’t say anything about my performance on Tuchanka in front of my crew, and Wrex, but if you want to now...” her voice trailed off with a slight tremor, and she cleared her throat.  “I am truly sorry, and I wanted you to know that.”

Victus stared at her, and slowly sat back down.  

“You thought.... you thought I came here to berate you?  To second guess your actions?  To yell at you?”

Shepard just nodded, reluctantly sitting back down.  She always dealt with being yelled at better on her feet, but it didn’t seem right to tower over him; she sat on the very edge of the couch, back ramrod straight, chin raised, her eyes fixed on his face as she waited.


	3. Chapter 3

“I don’t blame you, Commander.  I doubt many could have completed the mission at all.  I meant it when I said I appreciated the fact that you had given my son a chance to prove his worth.”  Victus sighed and shook his head.  “I do not believe anyone could have prevented my son’s death and completed the mission.  It was... a difficult decision, but he made the right one.  It was unfortunate, but Tarquin’s death was... it was....”

Suddenly, Victus couldn’t continue.  His throat closed as his grief welled up.  Saying the words aloud, _“my son’s death,”_  had made them real.  Had made _it_ real.  He wasn’t just “lost in action.”  Those were words on reports that set such losses at a comforting distance; but this was **his** son, **his** Tarquin, and there was no distance and no comfort to be had.  

Slowly, he gave in to the pressure of his grief, how it roiled in his gut, the weight of it across his shoulders, folding forward until his elbows were braced on his knees, his hands covering his face.  Distantly, he remembered where he was, and wished he were somewhere else - anywhere else - not making a fool of himself in front of this human commander he was slowly beginning to like as well as respect; but as the tide of his grief rose and swallowed him, he wasn’t able to do anything about it, and after a moment, he no longer cared.

He had tried ignoring his grief in favor of his work; he’d tried renaming it as pride in his son’s sacrifice; he’d tried covering it with anger.  None of it had worked, and now, given even such a small moment of acknowledgement, his grief roared forward, washed over all his efforts to keep it at bay, and threatened to drown him.

He didn’t even notice when he started keening aloud; his senses overwhelmed, his mind overwhelmed, he lost all track of where he was.  There was only one thought in his mind and heart.

_My son is dead._

***

Turians don’t cry, they aren’t physically capable of it.  Instead, they show their sorrow with a high pitched keening sound, made in both their speaking voice and subvocals.  She remembered this from her alien culture studies in basic, but Shepard had never heard it before.  Now the sound filled her quarters and brought tears to her eyes.

She had been surprised to hear that he didn’t blame her.  She had almost started to relax in the face of his calm acceptance of his loss, his focus on duty and necessity.  In the next moment, though, it became clear that he was neither calm nor accepting; it was also clear that he had been putting off truly grieving for his son for too long.

Shepard acted without pausing to consider the consequences; moving to kneel next to him, she wrapped her arms around him, and tried to think of what else might be considered comforting to a turian; she suddenly wished she was able to make the subvocal sounds Garrus had told her about.  Failing that she held him, one arm around his back, and the other resting along the inside edge of his cowl.

She had expected stubborn, pride driven resistance but he surprised her by sliding his arms around her waist and leaning into her.  His head came to rest on her shoulder and he clutched her as tightly as if she were the only thing keeping him afloat.  Surprised at his trust, Shepard tilted her chin until she could rest her cheek against the top of his head.  Then she called softly to EDI to lock her door, send all communications to her private terminal, and dim the lights in her room.  She settled in, determined to give whatever comfort she could; she spoke softly, saying nothing of consequence, just murmuring his name and whatever soothing thoughts came to mind.

***

Still lost in his grief, Victus began going over memories of his son - Tarquin’s successes and Victus’ own failures as a parent.  He remembered teaching his son to shoot, remembered Tarquin’s joy at his first assignment after training, remembered trying to hide his own pride at his son’s advancement through the ranks.  He remembered how often he had told his son that expectations were higher for a Victus, that he wasn’t living up to those expectations and would have to do better; he remembered examining his son’s actions minutely and pointing out only his failures.  He remembered the night before the Ninth Platoon went back to Tuchanka to disarm the bomb left centuries ago; he remember the speech he’d given his son about coming back from his failure and earning the respect of his men.  

He couldn’t remember if he had said “I love you,” or even “goodbye.”

***

Shepard was startled when the Primarch began speaking, she fell silent for a moment, but when she realized that he was speaking only to himself she stayed quiet, brushing her cheek against his head in the gesture she remembered Garrus using to comfort her several times in the past.

***

Slowly, the memories receded.  More slowly, the grief receded.  Unlike earlier when he’d lost himself in these memories while alone in his quarters, there was no anger, and even something that might be called peace.  Victus took a deep breath, and started to pay attention to his surroundings.  He had no idea how long he had spent with no thought given to anything but his memories and his loss.  

The first thing he noticed was that he was leaning against someone, a strange pair of arms wrapped around him.  He remembered suddenly where he was, and who the arms must belong to.  Almost, he pulled away, but something stopped him.  If she had gone to the trouble to comfort him, she couldn’t be too disgusted by his weakness.  

And even if she was, what would another minute or two of weakness matter?  It had been so long since he had been able to lean on a strength outside his own - literally or figuratively.  A general in the turian military had few people he could turn when things got difficult; the Primarch of Palaven in the middle of the war to end all wars had no one.  He would take the extra moments of comfort without shame.

The last thing he noticed was the sensation of soft, human skin against the plating on his head.  Every so often it moved, a small comforting caress that was entirely turian; the gesture made him feel comforted and protected, and he wondered exactly where she had learned it.


	4. Chapter 4

Finally, he started to pull away, and was relieved when she immediately let him go.  He leaned back against the sofa, his eyes still closed, and wondered what he was going to say to make this less awkward.  He felt her leave the sofa, and listened idly to the sounds as she moved around the room.  He was halfway hoping that she had left so he could do the same and simply pretend nothing had happened, but after a few minutes she was back, pressing a glass into his hand.

“It’s just water.”  

He took the glass from her with a murmur of thanks, feeling the cushions dip as she settled back to the sofa.  Realizing his throat was sore, he drank the water gratefully and opened his eyes.  He was surprised to find the room dim.  She was sitting next to him, a small but careful distance between them.  Ever the tactician, he realized with a slight smile.  She had left enough space that if he didn’t want any further contact there wouldn’t be any; but the distance was short enough that it would only take a small movement for them to be touching.

He cleared his throat before speaking, trying to maintain a level tone.  “What happened to the lights, Commander?”

She laughed lightly.  “Please, call me Kel.  Or at least Shepard.”  

She paused, a significant silence lingering.  When he caught on, Victus snorted with amusement.  “Thank you so much for the invitation.  I notice you didn’t bother waiting for one earlier.  I thought that was considered polite among humans.”

Victus didn’t have to look at her to be certain she was grinning - it came through clearly in her voice.  “Generally, yes, but sometimes it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”  When he didn’t say anything, she laughed lightly.  “And I turned the lights down so we could talk.”

He waited for her to continue, to explain why talking would require the lights to be off.  They’d talked before.  When she didn’t say anything further, he made an annoyed sound and gave in, asking, “What difference do lights make to talking?”

“Oh.  Well, I guess it’s a human thing.  We tend to find it easier to speak of difficult topics, especially emotional ones, if we don’t have to look directly at the person we’re speaking to.”

He had noticed that she was sitting facing out into the room, her head tipped back against the back of the sofa.  He thought about this, and saw the logic in it.  “So, what difficult emotional  topic are we going to discuss, Commander?”  

She took a deep breath.  “Did you want to hear about the mission?  More than just what’s in the report, I mean.  From when we found his platoon, all the way until the end?”

Victus blinked in surprise; this was not what he had expected.  Her mission report had been clear and concise, a nearly perfect example of what he had always insisted on from the men under his command.  The silence stretched as he wondered at her meaning, but there was only one way to find out.  “Yes, I would like that.  Please.”

Shepard nodded.  “I don’t mean to imply the report was incomplete, but I didn’t include my personal observations.  I saw the crash site first hand, and the Reaper forces.  Tarquin didn’t make a bad call, Adrien.  A frontal approach would have been dangerous, with high casualties guaranteed.  Tarquin’s plan was clever, and not so far fetched.  It wasn’t a failure of tactics.”

Even without being able to hear or interpret his sub vocals, it was clear that Victus was annoyed when he interrupted her to snap, “It was clearly a failure, though, Commander.  His platoon was decimated, the survivors were nearly ready to mutiny.  I don’t think that qualifies as ‘not a bad call,’ Commander.”

“I wasn’t finished, _Primarch_.”  

The emphasis on his title was clear, and for a moment he was sure she was insulting him.  Then he got it.  “I never actually said you could call me by my given name, so returning to a more formal mode of address is hardly going to work, you know.”

She just laughed, unconcerned.  “An excellent point, Adrien.  Perhaps I’ll just have to resort to interrupting you whenever you call me ‘Commander.’  I’m sure that will be more effective.”

He growled, a sound she was sure to hear and understand, even with limited human ears.  Annoying him was something that even battle hardened warriors went out of their way to avoid, but Commander Shepard was not at all intimidated.  She just let the silence stretch until he snarled at her, “Fine, then, _Kel_ , please finish.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely, Adrien.”  

Damn her, the woman was laughing at him.  He briefly considered turning the lights on so she would remember exactly who she was dealing with - and exactly how many sharp talons and pointed teeth he brought to an argument.  He couldn’t decide if the withering glare he gave new recruits, or the silent direct stare that had cowed many members of all species, would work better on her - and he had a nagging suspicion that neither would really phase her - so he simply remained silent and wait for her to continue.

“What I was getting at, though, was that the error wasn’t in the choice Tarquin made.  It was just that he got nervous, doubted himself, and allowed his men to question him.  It was that doubt, allowing those questions, that brought them to nearly mutiny.  And you know full well that more experienced soldiers have been struck down by the loss of those under their command, let alone by fear of the Reapers.  He rallied, though.  Right there, with harvesters flying overhead, and the bodies of his soldiers in sight, he pulled it back together and he got his men back in line.  I know you said that his actions at the bomb site made you proud.  I thought you should know that his actions at the crash site would have as well.”

“I... thank you, Kel.  That is unexpected, but I appreciate it.”  He fell silent, pondering her words.  

As the silence stretched, he felt her tension as she sat beside him, and remembered how this rather unbelievable evening had started.  “It’s not your fault, you know.  You aren’t responsible for the bomb, for Cerberus being there, or the Reapers.  You didn’t put an untried lieutenant in charge of an inexperienced platoon with no back up.  You did more than anyone could have expected in a difficult and unknown situation.”

Her only answer was a long breath; indrawn, held, exhaled.  Slowly, she nodded.  “If we’re not blaming me, we can’t blame you either, you know.”

Victus barked a laugh at that.  “How do you figure?  I’m the one who put him in charge of the Ninth Platoon.  I’m the one who sent them to Tuchanka.  Spirits, I’m the one who sent you to Tuchanka, and you’re telling me this isn’t my fault?”

When she answered, her voice was serene.  “It isn’t.  You didn’t plant the bomb.  You didn’t involve Cerberus.  You certainly didn’t involve the Reapers.  You inherited a problem, and you dealt with it the best you could with the options available to you.”

There was dead silence in the room as he absorbed her words.  Shepard smiled in the darkness, waiting.  He relaxed slightly as the impact of her words hit him, and washed away some of the guilt he felt for his son’s death.  It was only a minute later that what she’d actually said got through to him; when it did, he roared with laughter.

“And you said you didn’t care for politicians!  I’ve never heard my own words used against me so thoroughly.”  Still chuckling, he leaned over slightly, knocking his arm against hers.  She didn’t look at him, but returned the pressure immediately, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Victus let the contact between them linger, enjoying the now-companionable silence.  Finally, he stood.  “I should let you get some rest, Commander.  I’m sure tomorrow will be a long day.”

Commander Shepard flicked at a control on her omni tool, bringing the lights back up.  Then she stood and faced the Primarch, smiling.  

“I’m sure it will be.  Mordin says it will take several days to finish the genophage cure.”  She turned, walking him to the door.  “In the meantime, we’ll be playing fire brigade for the Alliance in the neighboring systems.  Things will be slightly less stressful; allow for some downtime.” When Shepard reached the door to her quarters, she turned to face Victus, that same small smile playing over her features.  “Perhaps you’ll find time to come for another drink, Primarch.”

Victus answered with a surprised hum, and quickly decided not to pursue too closely the question of why her invitation pleased him.  “Perhaps I will, Commander.”  This time, he put a slight edge on her title, and was rewarded when her smile deepened.

He watched her for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice and subvocals were both heavy with a gratitude he hoped she would understand somehow.  “Thank you, Kel, for everything.”


	5. Chapter 5

Commander Shepard was glad to be back on the Normandy.  She stepped off the shuttle after a “thank you” to Cortez, and headed over to the armoury to drop off her weapons.  She exchanged tired smiles with Vega and Javik.

“Well done, guys, thanks for the help.  Get some rest.”

Nodding in response to their various acknowledgements, she headed to the elevator and punched the button for her cabin.  She was still shivering when it reached her quarters.  Going inside, she turned the shower on and set the temperature as hot as it could go before stripping out of her armour and setting it neatly on the rack.  Stepping into the bathroom, she shut the door, reveling in the hot steam filling the small space.  She dialed the heat back to a bearable level, and stepped in.

Some time later, clean, dry, and finally _warm_ , Commander Shepard left her quarters, hitting the button for the engineering deck.  She checked on Tali, Adams, and Ken and Gabby before going to see Javik.  He didn’t seem to have minded the cold, or else he just didn’t see the point of complaining.  She smiled, and waved on her way out.

In the hanger, she found Cortez, who gave her an update on the Alliance’s take over of the fighter base.  Everything seemed to be going smoothly there, at least.  She clapped him on the shoulder and waved at James, who was working at his station and didn’t look like he’d appreciate an interruption.

The crew deck was her next stop.  Liara claimed to be busy, but Shepard got the feeling she just didn’t want to talk.  Understandable, really, and the reason she hadn’t been included on the ground team.  Shepard gave her a sympathetic smile, and left her in peace.  Mordin was busy, and humming under his breath.  Eve chuckled good naturedly at the professor, and nodded politely to Shepard.  Garrus was, unexpectedly, not in the main battery.

As Shepard stepped off the elevator in the CIC, she tried to slip stealthily past Traynor.  It didn’t work.  It never worked.  Traynor chimed a greeting, and let her know that not only did she have messages, but that Admiral Hackett wished to speak to her.  Suppressing a sigh, Shepard nodded, and headed into the war room.  

Skirting past Wrex on the upper level, she nodded to the Primarch and Garrus as they reviewed troop reports, and slipped into the comm room.  A brief conversation with Hackett assured her that Cortez had already hit all the important information in regards to the fighter base.  Turning, she left the room, going down the few steps and stopping near Garrus and Victus.

“Primarch, Garrus, how are you?”  She asked with a nod towards both of them.

Victus replied politely, but offered no real information.  Garrus frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I think I’m hurt, Commander.  Do you really prefer Vega’s presence to mine?”

She grinned at him, mimicking his pose as she rocked her weight back on her right leg.  “In this case, absolutely.  You may be the best sniper on this ship, but Vega was a far better choice for this mission.”

Garrus scowled at her.  “And how was that, exactly, Commander?  Did you think Cerberus deserved a fair shot at killing you, instead of our usual one sided battles?”

“Oh no, nothing like that, Garrus.  Having James there just helped with my sanity.”  She gave him a wide eyed, innocent look, before shooting a mischievous grin at the Primarch who was listening with interest.

“And how exactly did James help your sanity, Commander?”  This was asked with a pointed leer that had Shepard rolling her eyes.

“Because he didn’t complain every time I so much as looked at him.”

Garrus blinked in surprise.  “I don’t complain about our missions, Commander.”

“Oh, but you did.  When we went to Noveria while we were chasing Seren, I heard nothing else!”  She lowered her voice, imitating his rough tones.  “Turians don’t like the cold, Shepard, did I ever mention that?  I’ve never seen so much ice and snow.”  She shot him a grin.  

“It’s an ice planet, Shepard!  Palaven is _hot_.  What did you expect?  Besides, everyone was cold on Noveria.”

“Vega didn’t say one word about it.  Neither did Javik.  You’re just a big baby, but I didn’t want you to freeze your fringe off, so I decided not to bring you this time.  One Noverian vacation ought to be enough for you.”  She grinned at him, then turned deliberately to face Primarch Victus.  “How are things going, Primarch?”

Victus let his grin die, but nodded.  “About as expected, Commander.  There aren’t any new developments, at least.  I’m eager to get this resolved, but a bit of breathing space is also welcome.  Mostly, I was just going over the classified information I now have access to, making sure there aren’t any more... surprises... floating around out there.”  

At this statement, Wrex growled loudly.  “I doubt the krogan are the only race the turians tried to screw over.  I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a couple surprises waiting for you humans, too, Shepard.”

When Victus opened his mouth to fire back a retort, Shepard caught his eyes and shook her head.  She waited until he nodded, then spoke loudly enough that Wrex could hear her.  “I apologize for Wrex, Primarch, he’s feeling grumpy because of the sample he had to provide to Professor Solus.  He’s usually not such an annoying pyjak around his allies.”  She winked at the two baffled turians when Wrex snorted, and raised her voice another notch.  “Of course, I’d be on edge too, knowing that Mordin had those samples just sitting in the _unlocked_ med bay.  You know, where practically _anyone_ could _accidently_ compromise them.  That would be a pity, because then Mordin would have to obtain _new_ samples.”  She grinned at the identical looks of rather shocked horror on Garrus’ and Victus’ faces.  

Wrex stormed over to them, getting in Shepard’s face without hesitation.  “What exactly are you threatening to do, Shepard?”

Shepard smiled brightly, her eyes shining with innocence as she met Wrex’s angry gaze.  “Why, nothing at all, Wrex.  I was just explaining to Primarch Victus why you’re out of sorts.  I didn’t want him to think that you were so short sighted that you would risk everything we’re building just to hold a grudge.  Especially over something that was decided long before he was born.  And something that has been resolved at great cost to the turians.”  She narrowed her eyes, and met his glare head on.  “You wouldn’t be willing to risk this alliance over something that was decided long before anyone in this room was born.  Would you.”  

Wrex glared at her for another minute before his gaze shifted to Victus and Garrus.  He snorted and stepped back, relaxing.  “You sure do have a quad, Shepard.”  Chortling to himself, he returned to his station.

Shepard turned her attention back to the Primarch and Garrus, smiling brightly.  “See?  Problem solved.”

Garrus rolled his eyes, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “all that ice must have driven her insane,” as he turned away, resolutely ignoring his Commander in favor of the troop reports he’d been looking at earlier.  

Victus shook his head.  “You certainly like to live dangerously, Commander.”

“Well, I had to do something to get my mind off the fact that I’ll never be warm again.  Have you ever been to Noveria?  It’s **freezing**!”  And she ran for the door, barely making it through

ahead of the datapad Garrus had thrown at her, her laughter filling the war room.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

A short time later, Shepard's omni tool beeped at her, signaling a new message.

_"I've looked up some information on the extranet. It seems to say that humans find alcohol to be a good way to counteract extreme cold. If you're finished antagonizing krogan warlords, perhaps I should bring you some? ~A.V."_

Grinning, Shepard quickly sent a reply.

_"I prefer tea, actually. It can be found in the mess hall. Door's open. ~K.S."_


	6. Chapter 6

Shepard entered her quarters and glanced around.  She normally kept them neat - years of Alliance training plus her open door policy combined to provide sufficient motivation for picking up - but with Adrien coming, she suddenly felt nervous and found herself needing to double check.  The room was fine however, and she figured it would take at least 20 minutes for him to extricate himself from his work, find and make the tea she had requested, and arrive.  Plenty of time to get her mission report completed and sent off to Admiral Hackett.  Sitting at her desk, she called up the console and began.

She was barely two sentences into the report when her door hissed open.  Pleasantly surprised, and no small part flattered by how quickly he’d come, she turned to face the door with a smile lighting her features.

A smile that almost slipped when she found Dr. Chakwas in her doorway instead of the Primarch.  Only long training kept her from insulting the doctor with a show of disappointment.  Instead, she waved Chakwas in, and leaned back in her chair.  “How can I help you, doctor?”

A short conversation later, Chakwas forwarded her the details of the medical supplies exchange for their next visit to the Citadel, and Shepard turned back to her work.  

Unfortunately, she didn’t get far before the door hissed open again.  This time when she turned with a smile, she was not entirely surprised to see EDI standing there instead of Victus.  She politely answered the AI’s questions about the latest organic habits to catch her attention, asked after her mobile platform, and breathed a sigh of relief when EDI left the room.

Turning back to her report, Shepard was mumbling under her breath.  She checked the time.  15 minutes had passed and she had less than a paragraph of her report written.  Scowling at her terminal, she started typing again, using somewhat more force than was strictly necessary with a holographic interface.

The door hissed open.  Again.  This time Shepard turned to face the new arrival before letting her hopes rise, and was therefore able to maintain a politely bland expression when she saw Diana Allers standing in her doorway.  Allers hadn’t brought her camera drone, at least; it turned out she wanted to ask some questions “off the record.”  Since these questions seemed mainly personal in nature, Shepard let her voice chill and her answers become shorter and shorter.  Finally, Allers took the hint and left.

Turning back to her console, Shepard checked the time.  30 minutes.  Where was he?  She looked at the report.  Ten lines flashed with script.  She took several moments to bang her head gently against her desk, swearing.

When the door hissed open again before she’d even returned to her report, she wasn’t surprised.  Since she’d basically given up on seeing Adrien any time soon (had she misunderstood his message?  Had he been unable to get away from his work?) she merely sighed, and without looking around, asked “Yes, what is it?” in a barely civil tone.

When Specialist Traynor’s voice chimed out behind her, Shepard wished she’d been slightly _less_ civil.  Maybe she could have scared the woman off.  Instead, she listened in silence as Traynor outlined a distress call she’d picked up, and the Cerberus signals that had been tied up in it.  Keeping her voice level, she agreed to look into it as soon as possible, and had Traynor update the galaxy map.

She waited for the door to hiss shut, then folded her arms on top of her desk and dropped her head onto them.  This time, she called out to EDI for the current time, and found that it had been nearly an hour since she came up to her quarters.  Whatever had happened, he wasn’t coming, and now she wanted nothing more than to finish her report in peace so she could relax.  

Shepard took a deep breath, sat up straight, and turned her console back on.  Setting her fingers on the keyboard, she paused to gather her thoughts.  

The door hissed open.  Again.

This time, she didn’t bother to turn around.  She didn’t bother to let this latest intruder get a word in, and she spared only a passing thought on sympathy for whoever was about to get the brunt of her temper.

“I don’t care!  I don’t care about medical supplies, or research on organics!  I don’t care if you want to ask nosy questions, or add yet another mission to a list that is already endless.  I don’t care who needs what from whom, or what they expect in return.  I don’t care who is fighting on the crew deck, or who has been insulted by whom.  If this isn’t important, and I mean _really_ important, it can wait until I stop by your station, or you see me walking around the ship!  And even though you may think this is important, I promise you it isn’t.  Unless my ship is ON FIRE or about to be swallowed by a Reaper - in the next two minutes! - you can turn around, walk out that door, and it can damn well wait until I finish this report.”

Silence.  

Shepard took a deep breath, only to let it out in a huff when a three fingered hand placed a steaming mug of tea in front of her.  With a quiet groan she turned, and met the amused and interested gaze of Primarch Victus.  She could tell it would take only another word to let loose the laughter she saw in his eyes.  She narrowed her own eyes at him, challengingly.

“You’re late.”  She curled her hands around the warmth of the ceramic mug, lifting it to let the steam curl around her face.  She watched him over the rim of the mug.

Victus was fighting to keep his expression neutral, years of military training coming in handy at this moment.  Not since he was in basic had the consequences of a poorly timed laugh been quite so high.  “I didn’t realize.  I came as soon as I could decently get away.  It seems that you’ve been... busy... at least, while waiting.  I’m glad you weren’t bored.”

She growled, and saw a sudden flash of something in his eyes.  “No, not bored.  I swear, there’s a sign on the door.  ‘Now is a GREAT time to interrupt!’  I don’t know how else they manage it every single time.”  Sighing, she flicked a few keys on her terminal, locking her door; she stood up and made her way to the sofa in the lower level of the room, motioning him to follow.  It wasn’t until she was settled in the corner of the sofa that she noticed he hadn’t moved any farther into the room.  She raised an eyebrow at him questioningly.

“I really can’t stay.”  At her crestfallen expression, he added, “The ship is not on fire.  We’re not about to be swallowed by a Reaper.”  Finally unable to hold it in anymore, his mandibles spread wide in a grin, Adrien gave in to the laughter he’d been fighting ever since she started yelling at him.  Her silent glower simply fed his amusement; every time he managed to get control of himself, a glance at her set him off again.

Finally, gasping for breath, he made his way down to her sofa, collapsing on it with a few last wheezing chuckles.  “Spirits, Kel, your _face_!  I’ve heard the human expression ‘if looks could kill’ but I always thought it was exaggerated nonsense.  Now I know better.”

She had been fighting her own laughter, and at his last claim she gave in, laughing with him until her sides ached.  “Yeah yeah, you’re lucky you brought me tea, or I’d kick you out for laughing at me.”  Her smile reached her eyes, and proved the lie in her words.

Adrien leaned towards her, ducking his head until their eyes met.  “Sorry I was late.”

She smiled at him, shifting until she was sitting cross legged, leaning towards him instead of reclining in the corner of the sofa.  “It’s alright.  I’m sorry I yelled at you.  Commanding this ship is like herding cats, and sometimes it gets on my last nerve.”

Mandibles spreading wide in a grin, his subvocal tones washed soothingly over her.  “Everyone needs to let off some steam sometimes.  I haven’t laughed that much in longer than I can remember, you’ve done me a favor.  I was hoping we could talk a bit, but if you’d rather be alone, I’ll go.”

Shepard leaned over to set her now empty mug on the table, then turned back to him, wearing a bright smile, her eyes meeting his.  “Not at all, I’d rather have company.”


	7. Chapter 7

Several nights later, Commander Shepard was pleasantly surprised to see Victus standing outside her door when she left her quarters to head down to the mess hall for dinner.  She was even more pleased that he agreed to join her.  

She sat at one end of the table across from Victus, and next to Dr. Chakwas and Liara.  Most of the crew was assembled, and it was only a matter of time before their interest in eating waned and their interest in harassing each other grew.  This time, it was Joker and Cortez who started it, arguing the relative merits of piloting the Normandy or the Kodiak.  While most of the others chimed in with their own opinions, Shepard just listened, smiling and laughing, or adding an opinion when someone asked for it.  She enjoyed watching her crew interact.

She also, to be honest, enjoyed watching the Primarch.  The rapid fire conversation, heavy with insults and idioms, required more concentration for him, and he was giving it his full attention.  Occasionally, he asked Garrus to clarify something; often he sent a glance towards her, some of these held amusement, and others were surprised and thoughtful.  

Shepard watched Victus as much as she could get away with without getting caught at it.  It wasn’t too long, though, before her curiosity began to be overwhelmed by concern.  Her eyes flicked back and forth between Victus and Garrus, who sat farther down the table, comparing the two turians.  She didn’t like what she saw: Victus’ plates were grey and dusty looking, his eyes exhausted, and when he wasn’t paying attention to his expression, his mandibles drooped.

Commander Shepard shifted her eyes to Garrus again, and this time stared pointedly at him.  When he finally felt her gaze and looked at her, she deliberately lowered her eyes to her arm, activating her omni tool and lowering it under the table.

_I’m concerned about the Primarch.  Does he look alright to you? ~K.S._

She didn’t have to wait long as Garrus caught on, and lowered his own arm below the edge of the table, moving it out of the view of the others.

_No.  He’s exhausted and grieving.  He almost never leaves the war room.  He sleeps little and eats less.  ~G.V._

Her reply was quick and to the point.

_Can’t you do anything? ~K.S._

She was waiting anxiously for his reply, when she felt eyes on her.  Looking up, she met Garrus’ angry glare.  When her omni tool beeped back his message, there was no doubt about the bite in the line of text.

_I tried.  He pulled rank just to get me to leave him alone.  We’re friends, and he dismissed me like any raw recruit.  I haven’t mentioned it again.  ~G.S._

She sent him an apologetic look.

_I’ll handle it.  Thanks, Garrus.  ~K.S._

Commander Shepard sat back in her chair, and started plotting.

................................................................................................................................................................................................................

The next mission was another short and to the point task, complicated yet again by Cerberus.  It was quickly completed, though, and when she was safely back on the Normandy, Commander Shepard put her plot in motion.  

Walking out of the comm room after the mission debrief with Admiral Hackett, she went directly to Victus, standing nearly at attention and waiting politely for him to acknowledge her presence.  When he had, she informed him she had new intel on the situation on Earth and the progress on the Crucible; then she asked him to stop by her quarters when he had a moment.  Her tone was even and polite, just loud enough that no one was tempted to eavesdrop.  She nearly grinned when Wrex and the crew assigned to the war room this cycle ignored her completely.  The Primarch was giving her a suspicious look, but she kept her own expression blank and slightly subordinate; this seemed to work as he agreed to stop by when he was finished.

Shepard left the war room at a decorous pace, then hurried around to the CIC elevator.  She waved Traynor off before the woman could get more than a few words out.  Taking the elevator to the crew deck, she skipped her usual long shower in her quarters for a quick one in the (fortunately empty) women’s restroom, changed into the off duty clothes she’d left there before the mission, then hustled over to the mess hall.  

The last time they’d stopped at the Citadel, Shepard had asked Tali to prepare a shopping list of things that she and Garrus would like to eat, since Shepard knew nearly nothing about dextro food.  When Tali had presented her with a very modest list, Shepard had tripled the quantities and then purchased everything on it.  She had wanted to be sure their dextro supplies didn’t run low, knowing that a visiting dignitary would expect more than military rations.  

Last night, she had snuck back down to the mess hall during the middle of the night watch, made an inventory of what was still available, and used her omni tool to figure out a menu.  Pulling up the menu, Shepard started grabbing ingredients and got to work.

She didn’t take too long, but she still had barely enough time to finish, pack everything up, get to her quarters, and set everything out before her door swished open to reveal the Primarch.  She smiled, waving him down to the sitting area, and watching his face closely.

It was clear that he was exhausted, and she easily recognized the look that came from being responsible for far too many things one couldn’t control - it was a look that she frequently saw in the mirror.  He was also, as he entered the room, increasingly surprised and uncomfortable.

................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Victus stared at the food spread across the table in Shepard’s quarters.  It looked and smelled delicious.   _I must be hungry if even human food smells appetizing,_ he told himself.  Then, his brain caught up with his nose and stomach, and informed him that it wasn’t human food, but dextro food.  And turian cuisine, at that. _She must be expecting Vakarian.  Huh.  I never suspected there was more there than he was letting on._

Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, and definitely not wanting to run into Vakarian in the Commander’s quarters, he spoke hurriedly.  “I didn’t know you were expecting company, Commander.”  He was turning away, focused on getting out of there before the embarrassing situation escalated, when her voice stopped him.

“I wasn’t expecting ‘company,’ Adrien, this is for you.  I’m afraid I’ve lured you into a trap, you see.  There is no new intel to discuss, but it was the only way I could come up with to get you out of the war room without an argument.  You’re not eating enough, and you’re not resting enough.  This way, I can be sure you at least get a decent meal.  Now come sit down.”

Her tone at the end had him responding before he’d completely processed her words - she had spoken as a superior, with no hesitation, and his ingrained response even now was to obey.  So he was sitting on the sofa before his thoughts caught up to him; when they did, he shot her a dirty look.

“That’s a low trick, Commander.”  He studied her carefully bland expression.  “Two low tricks, I believe.”

She grinned, and rolled her eyes, as she set food on a plate and passed it to him.  “Are we really going to argue about titles again, Adrien?  Now eat that, and tell me what you think.  I’ve never cooked something I couldn’t taste before.  Tell me you’ll forgive me?  Please?”  Her eyes were wide and guileless, she tipped her head to one side, eyebrows raised hopefully.

The way she shifted from teasing to challenging and back again was unsettling, but he tried some of the food and found it surprisingly good.  When he told her this, her response was a surprisingly direct look and a slow smile which showed all her teeth.  She turned and settled herself on the sofa facing him, and when she looked back, she was wearing a normal human smile.  Victus told himself he’d misunderstood that first smile, or imagined it.

He ended up telling himself that a lot as the evening progressed.  

While he ate, she talked, and kept refilling his plate.  She told him about her latest mission; the latest headshot count in the competition between her and Vakarian (22 to 23, but she thought he was cheating); the latest gossip she’d gotten off Dr. T’Soni’s information terminal; and who Javik was currently threatening to throw out the airlock (Diana Allers, and she was very tempted to let him do it).

The whole time, she was facing him, sitting cross legged on the sofa but not leaning back, a position he’d never seen her use before.  As she talked, she illustrated her words with hand movements: motions that almost always ended with a hand on her hip, or her fingers laced over her stomach - a very successful way of drawing his attention to her form.  She had let her hair fall free after her shower, and it curled wildly around her face - both tempting him to run his fingers through it and releasing her subtle scent whenever she moved.  He couldn’t tell if she was unaware of what she was doing, or if she was doing it deliberately, using the subtlety as a challenge; either way it was incredibly distracting.

When the food was gone, and he was surprised to find that he was feeling more relaxed than he had in days.  He leaned back into the sofa, watching her as she finished her latest story.  When she was done, he spoke up.

“I suppose I can forgive you for luring me here under false pretenses, since you provided the first real meal I’ve had in far too long.  You’re right, I should make time for sleep and food, but I just can’t seem to do it - I always feel as if there are a million more important things to do, the petty annoyances that crop up could cost good men their lives.”  He studied her, watching the subtle shift from relaxation to seriousness.  “How do you do it?  How do you give these incidental missions your full attention?  Why not let them fall to someone else?  And not even the missions, but the rest of it - downtime with the crew, cooking food you can’t eat...”  He trailed off, eyes dropping to his clasped hands.  “The whole galaxy is depending on you, how do you find any balance under that weight?”

His eyes found hers again, waiting for an answer.

“It isn’t easy, I never mean to give the impression that it is.  But these things... the petty details... they make the rest of it worthwhile.  Yes, if we fail to stop the reapers, we’ll all end up dead, I know that.  But, what happens if - _when_ \- we stop them, and we’ve ignored all the little things?  What will our victory be worth?  What is it worth if we win against the reapers, only to fight Cerberus - a Cerberus who has developed reaper tech unchallenged?  What is it worth if we defeat the reapers, only to find that so many of our colonies and planets have already fallen that there isn’t enough to start over; or that we end up chasing after the leftover reaper forces for years?  Yes, I could let Hackett send the N7 squads in alone, without clearing the way - but how many more lives would that cost us?  Both from the squads themselves and the civilians who had to wait longer for rescue?”  Her eyes met his, and he could see the depth of her conviction.  “What point is there to winning the war, if we lose ourselves in the process?  And, how much worse would it be to lose the war because I was too tired, or too sick - or my crew was too tired or too sick - to take the action that would win it?  How would I ever live with that?”

Victus stared at her for several long moments.  “That is... an excellent point.  I haven’t given much thought to those questions before - I never expected to be Primarch, and those questions weren’t an issue when I was a general - but I will have to do so now.  I believe I shall take my leave of you.”  He grinned, suddenly, mandibles flaring.  “And get some sleep.”

She stood, and walked to the door ahead of him; providing a very distracting view.  When she reached the door she turned, and the bright relaxed smile from earlier in the evening was back in place.  Victus blinked, wondering if she was teasing him.  

He stepped towards the door, expecting her to move.  She didn’t, standing her ground, eyes fixed on his face.  They were close enough now that if either took a deep breath, they’d be touching.  Victus’ eyes narrowed as he let a low growl reverberate in his chest.  Yes, she was clearly teasing; it was time he turned the tables.

Straightening to his full height, he loomed over her for a moment; then he lowered his head, eyes still locked on hers, until their faces nearly touched.  Lowering his voice, and adding a rumbling purr for good measure, he spoke.  “I know you like to live dangerously, but I wonder if you know you’re playing with fire, Kel.”

He was pleased that her breath hitched when he closed the distance between them, and that she held her breath entirely when he spoke her name.  Straightening abruptly, he opened the door and stepped through, letting it shut behind him.  Then he stood there, waiting, until he heard her release that last breath in a shaky sigh.  Grinning, he entered the elevator and made his way to his quarters.  He’d won this round; she’d hesitate before trying to play him again.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a lot of flashbacks in this one. Since I couldn't figure out how to change the font and I didn't want to end up with a ton of italic type, I used a single horizontal line between past and present. Hope that helps!

Primarch Victus sat in his darkened quarters, and tried to pinpoint exactly when he had lost his mind.

* * *

 

He’d brought her tea after Noveria.  Her explosion of temper was something he’d almost given up on seeing; it was both amusing and dangerously interesting.  He was relieved that she hadn’t been able to hear his sub vocal tones, he knew that his interest would have been very apparent to any turian who heard him.  Instead, protected from questions he wasn’t ready to face by her limited human hearing, he had stood back and enjoyed the fire in her voice.  He’d hoped to provoke her further when he set the tea down in front of her, and was pleased to see a fire in her eyes that matched that in her voice.  Those blue eyes had glared a challenge, and it was all he could do to keep from answering it.  

He was relieved when she finally joined him in laughter, and the moment had passed.  Then he had to go and ruin it, giving her an intimate look which she had responded to by shifting closer to him.  His casual offer to let her have some privacy was more cowardly than he had ever expected to be - he was hoping she would agree so he could leave, and bury himself in work.  But she hadn’t, and he had enjoyed talking to her.  

Enjoyed it very much indeed, and so when she returned from another “fire brigade mission” as she put it, this one on Benning, he had found himself outside the door to her quarters without any clear decision to go there.  The door had hissed open before he had a chance to reconsider, Shepard had nearly run into him as she left.  With a smile, she explained she was headed to the mess for dinner, and would he care to join her?  He had, and had enjoyed it despite himself; her relationship with her crew was easy and open, inviting friendly laughter and teasing, but never sacrificing respect.  

He had leaned back, letting it wash over him and remind him what they were fighting for.  Why they had fought so hard - and at such cost - to bring the krogan to their side.  Later, he escorted Shepard to her quarters and left her at her door; and though he had enjoyed the evening, he had missed the chance for a quiet conversation.

It was after the mission on Sanctum, that Shepard again demonstrated her tactical skills.  She had walked out of the comm room after her debriefing with Admiral Hackett, and much to Victus’ surprise, she’d come right up to him.  With the utmost respect and professionalism (not even earning a second look from Wrex or the human crew who were stationed in the war room), she had informed him that she had new information about the status of the crucible and Earth, and would he stop by her quarters to discuss it when he had a moment?  He had agreed, taking her statement at face value - which was surely the only reason he had been at a complete loss for words when he entered her quarters and found dinner waiting for him.  

_Yes, definitely the surprise of dinner when he was expecting a discussion of the latest intel_ , he told himself; it had nothing to do with the soft pants which hugged her hips before flowing away from her legs, or the short, form fitting top she wore.  It had absolutely nothing to do with the way the outfit emphasized her hips and left her waist bare.  

* * *

 

Victus snorted his frustration in the darkness.  These were symptoms of his insanity, but the problem was older than these latest manifestations.  When, and more importantly how, had she gotten under his plates?  When had the awareness of her invaded his mind, how had his senses become attuned to her presence?  And, Spirits, above all these questions, how had he allowed it to happen - in the middle of a war - with a human?

With a groan, Victus laid down on the too-small human bunk.  

* * *

 

Was it her behaviour following the disastrous mission to defuse the Spirits forsaken bomb on Tuchanka?  That had certainly been a shock and a revelation.  He didn’t expect her to ever forgive him for his mistrust, let alone put so much effort into helping him find some peace.  And all while she was convinced he blamed her for Tarquin’s death.  

But if he was honest with himself, that wasn’t the beginning of it.  He’d lost his mind even before that, he simply hadn’t noticed it was missing.

He remembered her appearance on Menae.  She’d been instrumental in clearing the reaper forces from his base camp, fighting and giving orders in a way that caught his attention even in the chaos of a desperate battle.  She hadn’t paused, going straight from fighting to talking.

_“General Victus?  I’m Commander Shepard of the Normandy.”_

Oddly intrigued by this human he’d heard so much about, he’d listened as she told him what she wanted.  And then, just as he was preparing to turn her down, Vakarian had hit him with the news.

_“Fedorian was killed.  You’re the new Primarch.”_

Despite the urgency of the situation, she had given him the space he needed to process this unexpected information.  When he turned back to her she had met his gaze steadily, and somehow, in her direct gaze and even voice, he’d found the strength to keep moving.  To leave his men while Palaven burned above them and reaper forces tried to smash them into dust.  

He brushed past the Alliance soldier and Vakarian, facing Shepard alone as he agreed to her request.  While he gave orders in preparation for his departure, his mind was awhirl with plans and contingencies, trying to find a solution.  When he found it, he almost laughed aloud, certain he was about to unsettle the so-calm human commander.

_“We need the krogan.  I can’t see us winning this thing without them.  Get them to help us, and then we can help you.”_

Half of him was relieved: with this as a prerequisite there was an excellent chance she would give up on the whole thing and leave him to lead his men; the other half was curious: he’d heard plenty about human tempers and he figured this was more than enough to set her off.

To his surprise, it hadn’t.  She’d considered it, ignored Vakarian’s wry comment, and nodded.  With a small gesture, she led them back to her shuttle, and the next thing he knew, he was ensconced aboard the Normandy, and headed to the summit she’d originally come to get him for - a summit which now included the krogan.

* * *

 

Staring into the darkness, Victus acknowledged that he was in trouble.  He’d been lost with one look from her.  A calm look in the middle of an impossible battle; strength and understanding both, held in a direct blue gaze as the weight of his entire civilization came to rest on his shoulders.  

She hadn’t flinched from asking the impossible of him; she hadn’t flinched when he’d turned around and asked the impossible of her.  

She was a warrior.  A soldier.  An equal he had never expected to find.

She was human.  

He had lost his mind.


	9. Chapter 9

Shepard waited until the door to her quarters closed before she let out a shaky sigh.  Playing with fire, he’d said.  That was an understatement.

She crossed the few steps to her terminal and sat down, taking a deep steadying breath.  The light on her terminal indicating new messages blinked at her, and she turned it on, flipping idly through the messages until she came across one from Liara.  She opened this, and found that it was the information she had requested about the Primarch.  It listed his military service and commendations, the dates of his promotions, and information about his family.   _Parents deceased.  No living siblings.  Father.  Widower.  Currently unattached._  That was the information she needed: _widower.  Currently unattached._

Smiling, she moved to the living area of her quarters, packing up the remains of the meal she’d tricked Adrien into coming for.  It was a relief to find out that he was available; she could remember, with exquisite detail, exactly when and how he had dropped into the center of her universe.

….....................................................................................................................................

House arrest had been horrible - partially from the boredom, but mostly because she didn’t have a goal.  Didn’t have a purpose.  Commander Shepard thrived on challenge - the bigger the better - but she always felt frustrated without a clear goal.

She had gone from being bored and frustrated to fighting for her life in a matter of minutes.  Another routine meeting had turned into a struggle to survive when the Reapers arrived.  Fighting beside Anderson again felt good, following his lead and watching his back was something she hadn’t done in a long time.  She was content to follow orders as they escaped the crumbling buildings and made their way to an open area large enough for the Normandy to pick them up.

Fighting husks was nothing new, finding the downed shuttle’s comm was simple.  Things got a bit worrisome when she ran out of thermal clips in the face of wave after wave of cannibals that came towards her and Anderson.  Then the Normandy had been there, and the Reapers had faded into insignificance.  She had made a beeline for her ship, not stopping to worry about the enemies at her back, not waiting for Anderson’s order, barely slowing down for the obstacles in her way.  Not until she was firmly aboard her ship did she turn, and notice that Anderson hadn’t followed.

She didn’t want to leave him behind, but he had given her an order, and she respected him far too much to argue with him.  

The mission on Mars had been miserable from start to finish; her conversation with the Citadel Council even more so.  As angry as she had been with the turian councilor and his request for help with only a thin “maybe” as a reward for doing what he wanted, she was also relieved to have a direction.  A goal.  A mission.  She was too used to fighting towards a goal to be comfortable with vagueness.  

So, she’d set course for Palaven.  And, almost as a reward for indulging the turian councilor’s power trip, she’d found Garrus.  

Garrus.  He seemed to shift back and forth between annoying younger brother and smothering older brother, but having him at her six made all the difference.  Suddenly the danger seemed laughable, the risk survivable, and the possibility of failure nonexistent.  Despite the destruction around them and the burning bulk of Palaven above them, the trip to where Garrus had last seen General Victus felt like a walk on the Citadel.

When they arrived, she introduced herself to the General, telling him why she was there.  He was determined not to leave, which didn’t surprise her; as she tried to find a way to tell him of his sudden promotion, Garrus stepped in with the information.  Bluntly.  She had to resist the urge to roll her eyes and smack him upside the head for dropping that sort of conversational bomb on the General without any warning.  

Victus stepped away from them, his attention caught by the large shape of Palaven above them.  Shepard waited, knowing he would need a chance to process the sudden news.  Then he turned around, and their eyes met.

Gold.  His eyes were a warm golden hue, a startling contrast to his dark plates and white colony markings.  For a moment, time stopped for Commander Shepard as she fell into his gaze and wished she could fall forever.  She didn’t feel any different, but her universe subtly shifted at that moment, and now he was at the center of it.

A moment later, he had broken eye contact, agreeing to go with her.  He gave orders to his soldiers, and then turned back to her.  She met his eyes again, one eyebrow raised in amusement at her reaction to him.

And then, he asked for the impossible. _“We need the krogan.”_

He’d given her a mission, a goal.  A challenge with impossible odds but clear parameters.  It was all she could do to keep from laughing out loud.  With confident steps, she led the way back to the shuttle.

….....................................................................................................................................

Dishes cleaned up, Shepard settled comfortably into the corner of the sofa.  She’d tried talking to Victus at every opportunity, but it wasn’t until that night in her quarters after his son’s death that he started to talk back.

She enjoyed his conversation; she found it ironic that the two people who understood her best were turians.  More than anyone else, though, Victus understood the weight of command.  He understood the strength necessary to be constantly responsible for the lives of so many.  He understood the dangers inherent in forming friendships within the chain of command.

He was a soldier.  He was a leader.  She hoped he would be what she had never expected to find: someone she could confide in, someone she could lean on; someone she didn’t have to be strong for all the time.

_Playing with fire_ , he’d said.  If this was a game, Shepard had been ahead until the last minute tonight.  She grinned as she remembered something Mordin had once said, _“Lie of omission.  Also, other kinds.”_ She had deliberately downplayed the effort she had gone to, and her motives for doing so.

She had thought he’d leave when he saw the food; he’d looked shocked that she had actually cooked for him.  She had been gratified to see her wardrobe selection had been effective, especially since she’d been guessing.  She’d kept the conversation light and entertaining, which had been helpful in letting her relax as well.  Altogether, she’d been very pleased with the way the evening had gone, except for one thing.

He hadn’t touched her.  Not a casual brush of hands, not a friendly shove.  Nothing.  Every time they touched on previous occasions, however innocently, she could feel another barrier between them slipping away. Shepard was sure he appreciated that contact as well; the last time he’d been here to chat, he had deliberately placed himself near her favorite spot in the corner of the sofa so they couldn’t help but be close.  This time, he had made a point of sitting as far away from that corner as possible.  It was infuriating.

And so, when he was leaving, Shepard decided to push it.  Nothing too obvious of course, that would just make him try harder to avoid her.  Just a simple invasion of his personal space.  She knew that turians took the social conventions against breaking that invisible bubble more seriously than humans did, so she decided to get clever.  She hadn’t invaded his space at all, she simply hadn’t moved when he expected her to, and let _him_ be the one to cross that line.

It had been a great plan, beautiful in it’s simplicity.  Right up until the moment it stopped working.

Because he hadn’t responded by touching her, accidentally or otherwise.  No, he’d responded with a growl that she could _feel_ vibrating in the small space between them, then straightened to his full height and given her a predatory look that sent her “fight or flight” response into overdrive.  As if that hadn’t been enough, he’d spoken in a low, rumbling voice that washed over her senses while he held her eyes in his incredible golden gaze.  He’d spoken her name.  His words had been a challenge, his voice had promised a reward.   

Commander Shepard narrowed her eyes.  If that was the way he wanted this to go, then she was more than willing to play along.  After all, she really _did_ like to live dangerously, and playing with fire was fun.


	10. Chapter 10

Commander Shepard stood in the middle of the makeshift sparring ring, unable to decide if this was a promising situation or one of the worst ideas she’d ever had.  Either way, heads would roll.  The only question was if she would kill Garrus or Vega first.  The immediate situation was Garrus’ fault, but he wouldn’t have come up with the idea if not for Vega and his ego.

….....................................................................................................................................

It had all started on the way to Menae.  She’d gone down for a chat, and Vega had challenged her to a sparring match.  Figuring she might get more out of the taciturn soldier if she humored him, she had agreed.  They’d sparred, and although Vega had landed a few good hits on her, she had no trouble taking him down when she was ready to end the conversation.

If she had known that he couldn’t accept defeat, even at the hands of his commanding officer, she might have let him win.  He’d invited her to spar roughly once a week since then, and by now it was a matter of pride for her too: she wouldn’t just let him win.  And, since he wasn’t really a match for her, she kept winning.

The regular matches had attracted an audience, and they both sparred against other people as well as against each other, so she had let them continue.  She could beat anyone on the crew, until they arrived at Menae.

Garrus, of course, had been eager to participate in the sparring matches.  He was easily a match for her; like Vega, he had both greater size and strength, unlike Vega, he had patience and tactics.  She still won slightly more than half their matches, but she had to work for it.

After watching how hard she worked to beat Garrus in their first bout, Vega had smugly proclaimed that next time, he’d fight the winner.  The look on his face when Garrus won had been worth the bruises she’d acquired before finally conceding.

The matches were an accepted part of the ship’s routine by the time they collected Mordin and Eve.  Participation varied based on down times and stress levels, and Shepard didn’t always join in, but she knew the crew enjoyed it.  That the matches would attract an audience was unsurprising.  That the audience would engage in betting was unavoidable.

Today was no exception; slightly less than three days of travel were left before they entered orbit around Tuchanka; Mordin’s cure was ready to go, the ground team had been selected, history was about to be made, and everyone was restless.  When Commander Shepard stepped off the elevator, she was not surprised to hear a match already in progress.  She was surprised by the sheer number of spectators.  The explanation was obvious when she found Vega and Javik facing off.

James was clearly outclassed - Javik wasn’t using his biotics, but his skills were still amazing - it wasn’t too long before he had James pinned, and money started changing hands among the spectators.  

When the combatants got up and shook hands, Wrex stepped into the ring.  Shepard suppressed a groan, she should have seen this coming.  The closer they got to curing the genophage, the more wound up Wrex had become; it was no wonder he was looking for a fight.

Javik blinked all four eyes at the large krogan, and Shepard was sure he was about to say something unforgivable.  Instead, he simply shook his head, declining the match.  Wrex growled and looked around.

“Are none of you pyjacks willing to spar with me?  I’ll go easy on you, I promise.”

Her crew shuffled nervously in place.  None of them wanted to offend the grumpy krogan, but they didn’t particularly want to get their limbs torn off and handed to them, either.  She glanced around, hoping for a way to diffuse the situation, when her eyes landed on Garrus.  Grinning, she stepped forward.

“Alright, Wrex, you want to spar?  I’ll spar with you, but not one on one.  Two on one.  What do you say?”

Wrex grinned.  “That sounds fair, Shepard.  Who’s your second?”

She glanced around at the assembled crew - all of whom seemed to find the ceiling or floor just _fascinating_ as they tried to escape her gaze.  Grinning, she found Garrus scowling at her.  He already knew who she would be choosing.  “Garrus will help me, won’t you?”

With a sigh, he joined her in the ring.  Muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll get you for this, Shepard,” he faced Wrex and nodded.  Shepard looked over at the relieved audience, and decided that if she was going to get pulverized by a krogan for their spectating pleasure, she’d ruin a bit of their fun.  “No betting.  Anyone caught making or accepting bets will find themselves on latrine duty.  Permanently.”  A collective groan was her only answer as she turn back to Wrex and Garrus.  “Let’s go, boys.”

Wrex dropped into a crouch as Shepard and Garrus backed away.  A quick hand gesture, and she and Garrus separated, attempting to flank Wrex.  If they could goad him into forgetting about the threat behind him, they might have a chance.  Wrex, not surprisingly, faced Shepard, lowered his head, and charged.  Backpedaling quickly, she dropped to one knee and rolled out of the way; the roll brought her back to her feet just in time to avoid the lashing kick he sent at her on his way past.  She’d forgotten how fast he was.

Turning to face Wrex as he pulled out of his charge, she cast a glance around for Garrus.  He was skulking around the edges of Wrex’s field of vision, clearly hoping he’d be forgotten until he was ready to make his move.  Wrex closed the distance between himself and Shepard again, more slowly this time, hands held loosely, weight balanced, eyes watching her for an indication of her next move.

They each got a few feints in, more as a stalling tactic than anything else.  Shepard wanted Wrex’s attention fully on her before Garrus made his move.  She wasn’t strong enough to get a good hit in against the krogan, but she was quick enough to minimize the impacts of most of the hits he got on her, so they were temporarily at a stalemate.  Wrex was expending a lot less energy though, and Shepard was having more and more trouble avoiding his blows.  Finally, he got a good one on her stomach and she backed off farther than before, ready to end this.

She caught Garrus’ eyes, then went into a charge of her own - pitifully slow compared to Wrex’s, but it had the desired effect; he stepped out of her path, grabbing her arm as she went past.  As soon as she felt Wrex’s grip on her arm, Shepard planted both feet and pushed, then let her legs collapse.  

With the krogan’s unbreakable grip on her arm, her momentum carried them a quarter turn in the direction she’d been moving; her sudden dead weight pulled him forward and off balance.  That was the moment that Garrus struck, his own charge hitting Wrex from behind, pushing him further around and off balance.  After that, a sweep of Shepard’s legs against his and a push from Garrus, and Wrex was falling.  Shepard barely managed to avoid Wrex landing on her, and her mad scramble was the only thing that saved her; the krogan rolled and regained his feet, coming up swinging, his eyes landing on Garrus first.

A single forceful swipe of his arm caught the turian in the side, sending him sliding across the floor towards Shepard.  As Wrex stalked over, and Garrus tried to scramble to his feet, she knew she only had one option left.  She let Wrex close the distance between them, and he planted a booted foot on Garrus’ chest and glared at her, waiting for her to yield.  Shepard knew she’d had brighter ideas; but with her crew shouting themselves hoarse and Garrus glaring at her from the floor for getting him into this mess, none of those bright ideas presented themselves to her.  

So she balled her hands into fists, set her jaw, and took a deep breath.  Then she headbutted the krogan.

Wrex had taught her how to do this himself, back on the SR1, and aside from one memorable occasion just before Grunt’s rite, she hadn’t needed to use it.  Just as well, she wasn’t nearly armored enough or strong enough to be effective.  Fortunately, she was small and maneuverable, she aimed for just under his head plate.  She got in a solid blow that rocked him back, and when Garrus shoved up against the foot that had been planted on his chest, Wrex went down for a second time.  This time, he stayed down, rubbing his nose where she’d hit him.  

Shepard slowly became aware of the cheering of her crew, and Garrus laughing beside her as he slapped her on the back hard enough to make her stagger.  She grinned at him, reaching to wipe sweat off her forehead and only realizing it was blood when her hand came away red.  She probed gingerly at her scalp; it seemed she’d caught the edge of Wrex’s plate despite her caution.  Walking over to the warlord, she noticed with amusement that there seemed to be two of him.  Reaching out to the one she hoped was real, she offered him a hand up.  He took it, and rose to his feet, grinning.  

“Good to see you haven’t forgotten the skills I taught you, Shepard.  I thought maybe you’d been going soft on this fancy ship.  Glad to see I was wrong.”  He turned to Garrus.  “Good fight, pyjack.  You fight that hard on Tuchanka, and we’ll see this thing finished.”  Wrex turned and pushed his way to the elevator.  

Shepard sighed, she and Garrus walked over to slump against the Kodiak as the crew gathered around to congratulate them.  There appeared to be twice as many crew members as normal, not to mention a ringing in her ears, so she tried to keep her eyes focused on the floor as much as possible.  Which is why she didn’t realize that Victus was standing in front of them until he spoke.

“I had no idea you had such a wide variety of skills, Commander.  And such unorthodox skills, too.”

Shepard laughed, then winced as the motion pulled sore muscles.  Garrus stepped in, regaling the Primarch with the story of Wrex’s headbutting lessons on the SR1.  As he spoke, Garrus watched the Primarch eyeing Shepard consideringly, and decided to get back at her for volunteering him in the match against Wrex.

“Shepard can find anyone’s weakness and use it against them, no matter how good they are,” he commented, slyly casting the bait.  “Why, she beats me more often than not, and you know how close to impossible that is.”  He waited, a sharp predatory look in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t exactly call beating you ‘close to impossible,’ Vakarian.  Wrex must have knocked you around pretty hard if you’ve forgotten how easily I beat you in sparring matches back on Menae.  Although it is good to see that it takes more than a beating by a krogan to rattle your pride.”

Garrus barely resisted the urge to laugh aloud.  What was that human saying?  Hook, line, and sinker?  “Well, then, Primarch, since I’m such a minor challenge, perhaps you should spar with Shepard.  She’ll give you a run for your money.”

He suddenly had the undivided attention of everyone in the room.  And the undivided glares of both Shepard and Victus, but that didn’t bother him.  He just grinned.  

Victus opened his mouth to decline, then glanced around at the grinning humans surrounding him.  He sighed, and looked at Shepard.  She was wearing a wry grin.

“I really don’t think we’ll be able to avoid it, Primarch, since the question was raised in such a public setting.”  She directed a glare at Garrus.  “But, if you don’t mind, perhaps we can wait until tomorrow?  I’m not exactly at my best; there seem to be two of you, and I’m not sure which I should hit.”

There was nothing Victus could do, except nod and plot retribution against Vakarian.


	11. Chapter 11

Shepard sighed.  Now, a mere 24 hours later, here she was.  Facing Primarch Victus in the sparring ring, surrounded by her laughing - and betting - crew.  None of them had seen Victus fight before, but Garrus had made a point of loudly informing them that Victus hadn’t become a general by sitting around, and that he himself lost sparring bouts with the Primarch fairly often, so the betting was brisk.  

She’d decided: Vega could wait, the threat of retribution ought to keep him occupied while she dealt with Garrus.  She was going to murder her best friend.  She just had to manage not to embarrass herself in front of Victus first.

***

As Commander Shepard fell, she heard a solid _thump_ and knew that she had at least managed to bring Victus down with her.  She tucked her arms and legs in an instant before she hit the floor, turning the fall into a roll, and coming up on her knees.  She took a second to pant for breath; she had no idea how long this match had been going on, but it was quickly reaching _too long_ , she was nearly out of energy.  

Seeing that Victus was also kneeling not far away, she didn’t bother trying to get to her feet; that would only give him time to prepare.  Gulping as much air as she could manage, she launched herself at him.

He was faster than she, by a good bit - he was already moving towards her even as she pushed off the floor.  With a grunt, she hit him head on, but his superior weight and speed was too much; when they ended up tangled on the floor, she found herself on her back with Victus’ weight settled over her abdomen and his hand reaching for her throat.

She hissed, managing to squirm enough that he missed clamping his talons around her throat.  He’d left her legs free, and she used that advantage now: planting her right foot on the floor and hooking her left hand around his cowl, she put all her weight into kicking off the floor and flipping them.  She moved quickly to pin his arms.

“Yield?”  She asked, even the single syllable coming out with a catch as she fought for breath.

He laughed at her, and her eyes narrowed.  At least his breathing was as ragged as hers, that was some consolation.  She’d really been hoping he would yield, though.  Yes, she had him pinned, but in a move intended for use against human opponents; the turian’s different physique had her off balance as she reached around the unfamiliar bulk of his carapace.

She could see in his eyes that he knew it too, and was about to make his own move.  He freed his arms with a jerk, then surprised her by bringing his hands back up between them, inside her guard, and planting both hands squarely on her chest.  In the split second before he could shove, she aimed a sharp stab at his throat with the side of her hand.  Then she was flying through the air again.

This time, she wasn’t able to roll with the momentum, he’d knocked the wind out of her with that shove.  When she hit the deck, what little air had been left in her lungs _whooshed_ out, and she lay there, gasping.  

Shepard was at least pleased to hear Victus coughing and gasping as well.  Her hand had connected, it seemed.  Earlier in their match, she would have been able to take advantage of his temporary distraction; now, trying to force air into her own lungs, she simply remained still and raised her left hand into the air, signaling that she conceded the match.  

There was silence in the hold for an instant, then a collective groan and loud grumbling from the spectators.  Above it all, she heard Garrus laughing.  Turning her head towards Victus, she saw him lying on his back as well, one hand at his throat and the other raised in the air.  Conceding.

A draw.

Well, that certainly explained the grumbling, there were probably a lot of losing bets over there.  It also explained Garrus’ laughter: he’d probably been one of the few winners.  Letting her left arm fall back to the floor, she chuckled slightly, then closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing.  

….....................................................................................................................................

Victus pushed himself up from the floor with a cough; Shepard had put everything she had behind the strike to his throat and he knew he’d feel it for awhile.  Moving proved to be an interesting challenge, so when he had managed to get to a sitting position, he stayed there, watching the hold spin lazily for a minute.  Looking over, he saw Shepard was still on the floor, arms stretched above her as her oddly shaped human chest rose and fell in uneven breaths.  Well, at least he had put up a good fight.  

He’d been surprised to find that she had conceded even as he did, after who knew how long of a match, he had come to suspect that she would never concede.  He let out a huge sigh.  She was the most challenging opponent he had faced in some time.  

He sparred regularly with the soldiers under his direct command; he was better than most, though there were some who could beat him handily.  He didn’t mind losing to subordinates, no one could excel at everything after all, and since he could best all of them at something, he had no problem simply being near the top of the hand to hand combat lists.  But his soldiers, male and female, fell into two clear categories: not as good as he was, or better than he was.  Even Vakarian, who won a decent number of matches hadn’t really been a challenge; Vakarian had to put all his effort (both physical and mental) into a match in order to have a chance at winning; beating him didn’t take the same focus or commitment from Victus.

Shepard though.  She was different.  They were almost perfectly matched.  The advantage moved back and forth between them, but on the whole, the match could be said to be one long stalemate.  He was impressed, and more than a little intrigued.  The upper hand in this odd contest they seemed to be engaged in swung wildly back and forth between them; he was pretty sure she had the advantage of it now, though.  Strength, cunning, determination.  However human courtship went, this probably wasn’t it; if she’d been a turian, though, it would be clear that she was flirting with him.  And that he was flirting back.  Spirits, maybe it was a good thing she wasn’t a turian.

Vakarian walked over, looking smug, and offered Shepard his hand.  She let him pull her into a sitting position, but waved him off when he would have pulled her to her feet.

“Well, Garrus, how much money did the Primarch and I make for you?”

Victus laughed at Vakarian’s indignant expression.

“How much did you make for me?  None at all, Commander.  If you’d like to know how much money I made, with my unrivaled ability to read a battlefield and predict the outcome... well, quite a lot, actually.”  

“Well, I hope you enjoy it, Garrus.  I really hope it brings you hours of happiness.”  Victus glanced over at the Commander.  There was something in her voice.... He looked back at Vakarian, who was clearly too pleased with himself to catch the warning tone.  “And I’d take it as a personal favor if you would use some of your winnings to buy a large crate of soap the next time we stop for supplies.”

Garrus looked at her, shocked.  “Are you... trying to say I stink, Commander?”

She smiled, a dangerous smile that deliberately showed her teeth.  This time, even Vakarian caught on, and started to look slightly nervous.

“Not at all, Garrus.  At least, not now.  However, since this little stunt has landed you on latrine duty for a month, you will soon.  Soap, Garrus.  By the crate.”  Her smile became smug as she shot a triumphant look at Victus before raising her voice.  “Oh, and Mr. Vega can join you.  Misery loves company, eh boys?”

Grumbling loudly, the human and turian left the cargo hold before she could come up with further punishment.  Shepard collapsed back onto the floor, giggling madly.  

When her laughter subsided, she rolled onto her stomach, propping herself on her elbows as she looked at Victus.  “Good match, Primarch.  I’ve rarely had to work so hard for a draw.”

He nodded, watching as she pushed herself to her hands and knees, arching her back in a long stretch before sitting up facing him, extending her hand to him.  “Indeed, Commander, a very good match.  I am fortunate you didn’t try that last move earlier; you would have won.”  

She laughed.  “Well, it’s kind of a last ditch move in a friendly match.  Just this side of dirty fighting.  I knew I wouldn't be good for anything else at that point though.”

He shook her hand, then held it as he got to his feet and pulled her up after him.  Foolishly, and telling himself he was an idiot the whole time, he kept holding her hand as he tipped his head questioningly to the side.  “Then why try it?  If it wouldn't help you to win?”

She was smiling, her bright blue eyes fixed on his.  She couldn’t know what she was doing to him.  Could she?  She hadn’t taken her hand back, and she hadn’t stepped away; she was still standing there, nearly touching him, after he’d pulled her to her feet.  Her hair had come loose during their match, and hung in sweat dampened ringlets around her face.  When she shook her head in an attempt to toss the curls out of her face, her scent filled the small space between them.   _Human, salt-sweat, something...floral?  No matter, it was all **Shepard**_.  It invaded his senses, and he almost missed her answer.

"If I was going down, I was going to do my best to disable you.  That's just good tactics.  In a sparring match it doesn't matter, but on the battlefield I wouldn't want to leave an able-bodied opponent for my team to deal with - especially not such a dangerous one.  This way, anyone else would stand a chance against you.  Most of them," she waved towards the elevator, indicating the departed crew, "don't think of these matches as anything but recreation.  A fun way to prove who's the best, the strongest.  But what's the point, if it doesn't help you on the battlefield?"  She dropped his hand, finally, and stepped back.  “That's just me; I know I take all the fun out of things.  I’m going to go drown myself in the shower.  Thanks for the match, Primarch.  It was... fun.”

Victus watched her leave, admiring the sway of her hips in the tightly fitted black pants she’d worn for their match, his eyes tracing the curve of her waist and the straight line of her back; marveling at the way all of it faded into insignificance when compared to her mind, her spirit.  More than any other consideration, though, he wondered at the tone of her last words; they'd been heavy with promise, but promise of what?  

He went through the rest of the evening with a distracted mind.


	12. Chapter 12

Commander Shepard stood in the shower for almost thirty minutes, letting the hot water relax her tired muscles, before guilt finally drove her out.  Even with the civilian amenities that Cerberus had added to the SR2, hot water was still a luxury, and she hated the thought of her crew being stuck with cool showers just because she’d been sparring with the Primarch.

Drying off, Shepard combed out her hair, letting it hang loosely down her back.  Then she smiled as she shrugged into her one luxury purchase: a long silk robe, with deep sleeves and a wide sash that belted at the waist.  It was the same sapphire blue as her eyes, and she loved the smooth glide of the silk against her skin as she moved.  

Her plan for the night was to lock her door and curl up with a book, then get a good night’s sleep before the mission on Tuchanka tomorrow.  Leaving the bathroom, she arranged extra pillows on her sofa, then headed to her terminal to check her messages one last time.  Just as she was about to lock her door and shut down her terminal, the door opened.  Standing just outside it was Victus, holding a steaming mug of tea, and wearing a relaxed smile that shifted immediately into something a lot less relaxed as his eyes ran over her.

Shepard smiled and waved him in, accepting the cup of tea from the still speechless turian.

“Thank you, this is just what I needed.”  She sipped carefully at her drink, hoping the heat from the cup would adequately explain the color filling her cheeks at his silent scrutiny.

He finally found his voice, shrugging self consciously.  “I thought we could talk; it’s unlikely that we’ll have much of a chance tomorrow, no matter how things go.”

Shepard smiled, keying the lock to her door, and moved away from her terminal.  

“I’d like that.”  She was just about to lead the way down to the sofa when she noticed something.  Wincing sympathetically, she tapped the outside corner of her eye.  “Sorry about that, didn’t realize I’d gotten a hit in there.  I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”

Victus tilted his head to the side.  “Hit where?  I don’t think you did.”

Shepard set her tea down on her desk and before Victus could guess what she had in mind, she had stepped close to him, her right hand resting lightly against his cheek as her fingers gently touched the edges of the bruise darkening the skin around his eye.  Her touch was feather light, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him that had him catching his breath.  She froze, her eyes focusing on his.

“I thought it didn't hurt?”  She looked equally concerned that he was in pain, and amused to have caught him in a lie.

Victus let out the held breath in a rush, his sub vocal tones humming encouragement for her to continue that he would never have dared put into words, even though he knew she couldn't hear it.  His eyes never left hers as he answered deliberately, “No, it doesn't hurt.”

The answer earned him a raised eyebrow and a slow smile.  Her response was quiet.  “Oh, well then,” she said, her own words nearly humming in the small space between them as she raised her left hand to rest on his right cheek.  Her fingers ghosted lightly over the plates of his face, exploring, stroking, while her eyes remained locked on his.

Victus let his own hand trail up her arm, over her shoulder, and along the bare skin of her neck until he reached the copper colored curls that had fascinated him ever since he first saw her hair loose.  Threading his fingers through her hair, he brought his free hand to her waist, brushing his fingers over the smooth silk as he explored the curve of her hip.  

When his eyes returned to hers, he noticed her focus had shifted and her fingers were still running lightly over his face; with a jolt, he realized that she was tracing the lines of his colony markings.  The unfamiliar intimacy of the gesture shocked him - it wasn't something that a turian woman would ever think of doing, but as her eyes and fingers traced the lines he’d worn since he was fifteen he suddenly felt as if the simplicity of the gesture hid a deeper meaning; he couldn't quite put a name to it, but that tantalizing hint of meaning had his hands clenching as he pulled her towards him, the hand in her hair gently pulling her head back until their eyes met.

“Didn't we talk about playing with fire, Kel?”  His voice was a low growl that washed over her senses; in any other setting it would probably have been intimidating, but here with her hair tangled around his talons and the silk of her robe warming where his hand held her hip, it made the simple words far more arousing than they had any right to be.

“Who says I’m playing, Adrien?”  She left off tracing the white lines of his colony markings and slid her hand around to the leathery skin on the back of his neck.  When his eyes half closed and he leaned into her touch, a triumphant smile lit her face.  “Maybe I’m just taking the opportunity to do something I’ve been wanting to do for awhile now.”

He was having difficulty concentrating as her fingers explored the back of his neck, tracing light circles and abstract patterns that carried her hand closer and closer to his fringe.  “If this is just another sort of test, like the sparring match this afternoon, you should know that I won’t settle for another draw.”  His voice was rough, and more forceful than he’d intended, but judging by the shiver that went through her when he spoke, she didn't seem to mind.  Seeing her challenging smile, he added, “Or would you rather consider this a tie breaker?”

She smiled, and stepped away from him just enough that he knew to follow as she led them toward her bed.  She reached out to brush a panel on the wall, dimming the lights.  Then, her left hand was on his right, sliding his hand away from her hip to the small of her back, where the sash of her robe was knotted.  When he hesitated, suddenly wanting to be sure she knew what she was getting into, she gave an amused chuckle, and ran the fingers of her free hand along his fringe.  

His doubts dissolved as he crushed her against him, and for a time there were no doubts and no words.

….....................................................................................................................................

Quite a while later, Victus looked over at the human who lay next to him.  She was laying on her stomach, propped up on one elbow so she could watch his expression as her other hand trailed lightly across his chest, finding the sensitive patches of skin between his plates.  In return, he trailed the back of a talon along her spine, grinning when it made her shiver.

When she spoke, her voice was casual.  “I’ll have to get going soon; there’s this mission you know.  But I want to ask you something before I go.”  

Her words filled him with an odd sense of dread, but he replied evenly, “Go ahead.”

She moved until their eyes were level and smiled.  “Will you be here when I get back?”

The words startled him, and Victus tried to tell himself he was reading more into them than she intended.  Hoping to buy himself some time, he grinned at her.  “Well, probably not right here; I think it would look bad if I didn't make an appearance in the war room during such an important mission, don’t you?  People might talk.”

She smiled absently, and shook her head.  “Not what I meant.  Will you be here?”

He still wasn't sure if she meant what he thought - _hoped_ \- she did.  Adrien Victus had never been a coward, though, and had never been one to back down so he answered the question he hoped she was asking.  Setting one hand on the back of her neck, he gently pulled her head down until their foreheads were touching, leaning up to add some pressure to the contact, his golden eyes steady on hers.  “For as long as you want me to be.”  

The simple phrase was probably the most transparent and most honest thing he’d said in years; and as a smile lit her face, he was amply rewarded.


	13. Chapter 13

Commander Shepard let out a long sigh as Admiral Hackett’s image faded from the vidcomm.  It was tempting - incredibly tempting - to just stay in here.  She didn't want to face anyone; didn't want to face the questions and condolences that would follow her around the ship.  Like always, though, she only took a moment to herself before striding purposefully into the war room.

As she descended the steps into the war room, Victus broke off his conversation with Garrus.  He closed the distance between Shepard and himself quickly, eyes flicking over her to assure himself she was alright before his gaze caught hers.  Her blue eyes were rimmed with red, her jaw set a little too firmly.  

He had no idea how to comfort her without publicly crossing the line they’d crashed through in her quarters last night.  He wasn’t entirely sure what he would have done to comfort her even without that concern, so he settled on praising her accomplishments.  When they shook hands, he let the contact linger as he held her gaze, trying to offer comfort and support.

She seemed to appreciate it, at least she didn't break the contact between them or move away from him for a long moment.  Her eyes held his and she gripped his hand tightly before moving away.  He fell into step beside her, speaking of the resources he could now offer to the war effort.  He informed her that Garrus would be coordinating them, then he moved off, continuing around the information display to his console to relay the orders.

He could hear Shepard and Garrus speaking quietly together; her voice cracked and her breath caught, and when he looked up, she was enveloped in Vakarian’s arms, head resting on his armored chest.  Victus’ breath caught in his throat, eyes narrowing.  

He forced himself to look at his console, to create and send the orders he had come over here to deal with.  He had no business feeling territorial; he hadn't even spoken to Shepard about his conflicting feelings.  He knew he had no justification for wanting to warn Vakarian away from her, and yet that was precisely what he wanted to do.  He forced his attention back to the console and completed sending his orders.

When he looked up again, Vakarian’s arms were still around her, his unscarred mandible resting on the top of her head, and one hand smoothing comfortingly over her hair.  Victus forced his eyes away from the two, trying to contain the sheer jealousy he felt that Vakarian got to touch her in such an intimate fashion.

Without meaning to, his eyes found their way back to Commander Shepard.  She hadn't moved, aside from the shaking of her shoulders, but Vakarian was another story.  He still held her, but his head was raised, mandibles drooping and eyes wide with shock as he looked back at the Primarch.  It was only then that Victus realized his mistake.  He’d reacted instinctively, his sub vocal tones growling a clear warning to Vakarian to stay away.  He cut the sound off with a sharp cough and turned away, going up the steps to a console on the far side of the upper level and resolutely turning his back.

A few minutes later, Victus heard the door to the war room open and close, and he breathed a sigh of relief.  They must have left.  At least now he could work without distractions.  Later, perhaps, he could sort out the tangle of emotions and possibly go talk to Shepard about it.

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching.  He didn't turn, and a second later Vakarian was there, standing closer than a subordinate had any right to, a challenging scowl on his face.  

“Alright, Victus, what the hell was that?”

The Primarch scowled, straightening to his full height and leveling a glare at his advisor.  “Back off, Vakarian, and watch your tone.  I’ve granted you a lot of leeway, but that doesn't give you the right to threaten me.  Back off, or get out.”

He watched as Vakarian considered it, then agreed with a small nod before stepping back.  “Alright, Primarch.  But you will tell me what that was all about.”

Victus knew he couldn't lie, but neither could he explain a situation he himself didn’t understand, and he absolutely wasn't going to talk about his confused thoughts and feelings; turning back to the console, he settled for taking the high road, and ignored the problem.

“What it’s about is none of your business, Vakarian.  Besides, you have work to do, so get to it.”

Garrus opened his mouth to object, then closed it with a sly look.  “Of course, Primarch, I’ll get right on that.  If you’ll excuse me.”  He turned to leave, fully intending to go get the information out of Shepard.

Victus offered him a lazy grin.  “Not at all, Vakarian, I have an open channel for you right here.  Secure and everything.”  He stepped out of the way, waving one hand at the console he’d been using.  When Vakarian stepped over to it with a sigh, Victus just grinned, and made his way confidently out of the war room.

His confidence left him as soon as the door closed, but he continued, stopping to ask Specialist Traynor where Shepard was.  When she told him the Commander had already gone to her cabin, he thanked her, and boarded the elevator, ignoring the woman’s curious gaze and half hearted protest that she didn't think the Commander wanted any company.

When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, the bright red light on Shepard’s door bore out Traynor’s words; she clearly didn't want to company.  He crossed the hallway anyway, and pushed the button for the chime.  When there was no answer, he pushed it again.  After several minutes with still no answer, he tilted his head to the side, considering.

He could ask the ship’s AI to let Shepard know it was him, but if she still denied him access - which seemed likely, given the lock and that she was ignoring the door chime - then he would be out of options.  On the other hand, if he simply hacked the door, then he would at least have a chance to talk to her before she kicked him out.  

With a grim smile, he activated his omni tool.  She wasn't the only one who liked to live dangerously.  Less than a minute later, the lock changed to green and he entered her quarters, letting the door slide shut and lock behind him.

The room was dark, aside from the glow of lights in the fish tank.  It was also silent, making her ragged breathing obvious.  He walked slowly down the steps to give his eyes a chance to adjust when she spoke from the corner of the sofa.

“Garrus?  Did you hack the lock on my door?”

Victus froze, his thoughts crashing to a stop.  She expected Vakarian?  His heart felt frozen within him, and only the quiver in her voice stopped him from snarling at her and leaving.  Instead, he forced his voice to remain steady as he answered her.

“Well, I did hack the door, but I’m not Garrus.”  As his pride shouted at him to shut up, he added,  “I’ll go.  Vakarian’s working, but I’ll send him up when he’s finished.”

He turned and made his way to the door in half the time it had taken him to get this far.  The door foiled his getaway attempt though, remaining stubbornly locked.  He growled at it, calling up his omni tool to hack the lock again, when he heard movement behind him.

“Adrien?  You came.  I didn't think you would.”  And then she was there, reaching around him to turn off his omni tool before stepping in front of him.  Her hands came to rest on his face, pulling his head down until their foreheads brushed.  She leaned into the contact, and he returned the pressure, settling his hands at her waist.

“Of course I came.  You’re hurt.”  He spoke the words as if they were a simple matter of cause and effect, and not an indication of his feelings for her.  Somehow she seemed to understand, though; she let her hands slip down from his face, wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned into him.

“He’s dead, Adrien.  Mordin’s dead.”  Her voice shook, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly, lifting her and carrying her back to the sofa.  When he sat, he didn't relinquish his hold on her; she curled up on the sofa next to him, leaning hard against him.  “He knew what would happen when he went up in that tower.  And he went anyway.”  

Victus hummed softly, knowing that even though she wouldn't hear the sub vocal tones, sitting this close she would be able to feel them; he hoped it would be soothing.  He tried to remember what she had done to comfort him; recalling the gentle brush of her cheek against his brow plates, he turned his head to nuzzle her hair.  He kept his arms tightly around her, and just let her talk, let her grieve.

Shepard told him about working with Mordin on the mission to stop the Collectors.  She told him about the one sided, mile-a-minute conversations she’d had with Mordin; about making a game of guessing where he would put the long inhales to emphasize his point.  She told him about Mordin’s retirement plans.  And she told him about the salarian’s last words to her.

Finally, she sighed and fell silent.  He could feel that she was more relaxed now, her breathing more even.  Victus was wondering if he should stay or make his excuses and go; when she pushed away from him his heart fell.  She just leaned forward and touched the control panel on her table, bringing the lights up enough that she could see his face.  Then she settled back next to him, this time sitting where she could watch his face.

“So, Adrien.  You hacked my door, huh?”

He cleared his throat nervously.  “Well.  Yes.  You didn't answer the chime.”

“Usually, a locked door and an ignored chime mean ‘do not disturb.’”  She sounded more amused than annoyed, at least.  “Why didn't you ask EDI to help?”

“Well... if I had asked EDI, you still might have sent me away.”

She definitely looked amused; even reddened, her eyes were dancing with mischief.  “And even knowing that was likely, you still decided to hack the door?”

His mandibles flared wide in a grin.  “What was it you told me?  It’s easier to ask forgiveness?”

She laughed, and moved so she was sitting on his lap, facing him.

“I did say that, didn’t I?”  Her grin faded, and she caught and held his gaze.  “I’m glad you came, Adrien.  I didn’t think you would.  Thank you.”

When she leaned forward and kissed him, he struggled with himself.  They really needed to talk.  He leaned away, intending to say something, when her hands came up to brush over his face again.  He watched her, this time, utterly enraptured by her focus.

This was the feeling from last night; then, he’d brushed it away, had let himself get caught up in the excitement of her.  Now, he sat still, eyes on her face, and tried to chase the feeling down.  

She was taking her time about it, her fingers running lightly along each line of his colony markings.  Her eyes traced the patterns with her fingers; her focus was absolute.  When she had trailed her fingers over each line and curve, she moved on to tracing the edges of his facial plates and the shape of his mandibles.  The time and effort she put into learning the smallest details of him was something no one had ever done before; somehow, he knew this was more than just the same attention she gave a battlefield translated to something more personal.  This wasn’t just part of her character, this was something unique to them; something she did because somehow he mattered to her.  When her eyes focused on his again, she smiled.  

This time, it was his turn; he took her hands and set them on his shoulders, giving her a warning look that told her to leave them there.  Then he reached up, one talon probing at the tight knot of her hair until he found the pins.  Gently removing them, he was pleased when her hair tumbled down around her shoulders.  He ran both hands through her hair, letting it slide between his fingers as he learned the texture of it.  His attentions brought the curls back to life, and as he reached the ends, they sprang back to frame her face.  He wound a single curl around his talon, rubbing it between his fingers before releasing it.  When he had played with her hair enough to satisfy his curiosity, he switched to running his fingers over her face; thumbs brushing across her cheekbones, fingers tracing her eyebrows, one talon set on the faint worry line between her eyebrows, running his fingers over her lips, then trailing them down her throat as she let her head fall back encouragingly.

When he stopped, she brought her eyes back to his, a small smile playing around her lips, eyes shining.  Victus sighed, he’d put this off long enough; if he delayed any longer they’d end up back in her bed, and while he definitely hoped they would repeat that experience, he couldn’t stand it if they weren’t on the same page when they did.  

“Kel, I... we need to talk.  I need to know what we’re doing.”  When she raised an amused eyebrow, he started backpedaling.  “Well, not right now- I mean, I need to know right now, but I don’t need to know what we’re doing right now...” his voice trailed off with a groan.  This was going poorly.

Shepard watched as the light faded from Adrien’s eyes, replaced by worry.  As he floundered to a stop, she fought down the nerves he was calling up in her and put on a bright smile.

“Well, while you figure out what you want to know and when, maybe you could answer a question for me?”  

Her tone was even and lightly teasing, her hands rubbing softly over his shoulders, but his look was still wary as he answered.  “Of course...” He wasn’t sure if her question would be a welcome relief, or worse than what he was trying to discuss; but at least he was off the hook for a moment.

“Is ‘tiebreaker’ some sort of turian code word for sex?”  She said it in the same tone she’d use for asking the time.  

It was the last question he expected.  “ _What_?” He spluttered, then stared at her for a heartbeat, before he burst into laughter.  “Is it a _code word_?!  Where did you get an idea like that?”

Shepard grinned.  He was relaxed again, so that was a win; he hadn’t noticed when her hands slid off his shoulders and she twined her fingers together behind his neck - another win.

“Well, a while ago, Garrus was telling me a story about him and some recon scout, and it ended with,” she lowered her voice, adopting a serious expression as she imitated her friend, “‘We held a tiebreaker in her quarters.  She had reach, but I had flexibility.  More than one way to blow off steam I guess.’”  She finished and grinned at him hopefully.

Victus just blinked at her.  “Vakarian said that?  And since I mentioned a tiebreaker last night, you thought...”  He was chuckling again, and tried to contain himself enough to answer her before the laughter overwhelmed him.  “No, it isn’t a code word for anything.  A match like the one we had definitely shows off one’s desirable qualities, though; any turian who saw you fight - let alone participated - would have a hard time not desiring you.  I imagine Vakarian felt the same way about his recon scout.”  

He laughed again, but this time it was more than halfway fueled by nerves; discussing Vakarian reminded him why he needed an answer to the question he was trying to ask.  

As his laughter faded, Adrien found himself studying the Kel’s face.  Reaching up, he tucked a lock of hair back behind her ear, then let his talons linger lightly against her cheek.  Suddenly, he had all the motivation he needed to get past his nervousness.

“May I ask you a personal question, Commander?”  

She nodded, her eyes steady on his.

“What is between you and Vakarian?”  Adrien’s voice dropped and roughened with his words, leaving no doubts of the intent behind his question.  A slight smile teased Kel’s lips.

“Respect.  Trust.  Friendship,” she answered.

There was more of a growl to his words now.  “And between us?”

Now her smile grew and deepened, seeming to light her eyes from within.

“Potential.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End, thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually my first fanfic attempt. I'm cleaning it up a bit and thought I would share. I hope you enjoy reading it!


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